


Lick the wind

by espritneo



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Voice Kink, misuse of MI6 property
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espritneo/pseuds/espritneo
Summary: The Norton Dominator SS seen in Spectre is finished. Q and James take it for a ride.
Relationships: ? - Relationship, James Bond/Q, James/Q/motorcycle
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Lick the wind

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, my friend wanted car sex but I couldn't decide who I wanted in the driver's seat. So, that's still coming, one day. _Motorcycles_ , on the other hand, solve that problem very nicely. Very. Nicely.

James had never thought about it until his life ran in parallel with Q’s, but Q and M might be the only people in MI6 that never took days off. Field agents had mandatory down time between missions. 00-agents technically had the same schedule, but there was a stipulation that allowed MI6 to call them back to duty at a moment’s notice. 

In James’ case, it didn’t have to be a national emergency. All he had to do was annoy management to the point where they used the double-0 clause just to get him out from underfoot. Now that he was with Q, though, the last thing he wanted was to give MI6 an excuse to give him an assignment. 

He learned to keep himself occupied. Since Q was always at work, it made sense to spend more time there. James didn't believe in a regular schedule, but he did make up for it by making each visit productive.

Today, Q was in the garage.

“007!” The quartermaster greeted him at the door. “Good, just the man I hoped to see. You saved me a text.” He used his head to gesture into the far bay, right next to his desk. “We finished the custom Norton Dominator SS yesterday.” 

They circled the gleaming aluminum and carbon fiber cafe racer.

“Artillery?” James inquired.

“Sadly, nothing explosive. This model is mostly for speed and stealth. However, there are dual gun compartments anterior to the gas tank.” He demonstrated with a light press to the side. A metal panel popped open, revealing a gun holster and ammunition.

Q picked up two helmets, tucking one under the crook of his arm. He smirked at James and wiggled the keys. “Fancy a spin around the block?”

—-

Soon enough they were out of the city and on the empty motorway. Q’s hands pressed down, sliding from his torso to the apex of his thighs, right at the juncture of leg and hip. At the same time, he shifted closer, eliminating nonexistent space between their lower bodies. Q leaned in as he coasted the bike around the bend, their combined weight trapping his soft cock and balls against the fuel tank.

James shivered from the engine’s vibration. His mouth parted. 

“I kept the classic lines as much as I could,” Q softly said into his ear, through the helmets, through the wind, a direct line to the ache between his legs. “The fairing flows directly into the gas tank, which then flows into an aluminium seat unit. These are high-end stock Norton parts, so no frames were cut.” 

The bluetooth connection carried his words low and crystal clear, an illusion of having lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“The way it’s built, it could return to a stock bike. Don’t know why you’d want to but, we’re all different.” He stroked his hands meaningfully over fabric. “Carbon fiber mudguard. Monobloc brembo front break so you have some serious stopping power.”

A hand slid over and palmed his cock, applying firm pressure. As if to say, _hold it_. “Are you paying attention, 007?”  
His throat was dry. The road rumbled up the machine directly to his sac. It took a few moments to speak. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Don’t stop.”

“As I was saying, we made some improvements. The engine is largely the same, but I’ve taken the liberty of making a few improvements. It now has computerised engine management, with fuel injection and turbo boost capable of injecting 20psi.” 

The pressure on his cock was too light, Q’s fingers idly running up and down the length, occasionally pressing down on the head and squeezing the tip between his long fingers. James fought not to step harder on the gas, to keep his hips perfectly still, right where they were, trapped between tormentor and the humming machine.

“What about tire guards?” He gasped, trying to distract himself.

“And destroy the lines? No, 007. If you aren’t good enough to evade the car chasing you, then you’re not good enough for this beauty.” 

Q’s other hand wormed its way under his clothes. It settled possessively just under his navel, emanating heat.

Q’s voice continued to worm its way into his ear. “The helmets I’m particularly proud of. It has an internal sound analyzing network of four microphones that suppresses wind and other ambient sounds in real time without sacrificing your environmental awareness. Noise canceling.” 

Almost distractedly, fingers swept under his trousers, nails scratching at the base of his cock. His dick throbbed and he sighed as a well-timed squeeze caused some fluid to leak out. 

“Bluetooth intercom that allows you to speak with up to 8 other riders.” Q gave his cock another particularly potent pull through the fabric. “Visor insert with proprietary liquid crystal hosted dyes - _Speed up, James, foot on the gas now_ \- With a press of a button, you can switch between clear and tinted glass.”

“Q, you’re bloody ruthless.” James shivered plaintively, unable to ask for what he really wanted on the comms. He’d lost all interest on the speed, the danger, the gadgets. His cock wanted to come. He wanted off the bike, he wanted to hoist the quartermaster up around him and he wanted to bring Q up to the very same peak so they could tip over together.

Q, _fucking tease_ , just kept on talking in that intimate tone. As if he didn’t have half his hand tracing idle patterns over his crotch, just asking to be pinned to the metal. James ground down out of spite. “The helmet also has a heads up display. It’s automatic and it allows you to see speed, ammunition, fuel, and something new we’ve been working on: if you use the helmet to tag pursuers, their position appears on your navigation compass.”

Q’s hands slipped out and forced his hips to stop. Belatedly, he realized just how close he’d been to coming, right there, going at 110 miles per hour.

Q’s helmet gently butted his on the side. “I’d kiss you right now if these weren’t in the way.” James briefly closed his eyes to a picture of Q’s face wearing the desire and affection he could hear. The image - memory - shot sparks up his spine, bursting at the nape of his neck in a soft exhale. Mercifully, Q gave him the space to calm down. He killed the engine and coasted through a tiny English village, the smallest ones with one main road and and five minutes from end to end.

On the other side, James revved the engine and opened her back up. He took a moment to admire the technology occupying the lower right hand corner of his visor. At top speed, fingers snuck back under the front of his jacket and unbuttoned his trousers.

James hissed. “You’ll like this, Bond.” Q said conversationally, as if he weren’t working the fabric out of the way. His cock helpfully pushed in the opposite direction and popped free. “Self-balancing technology with limited self-driving ability. Imagine all of the shooters you’ll be able to gun down two-handed.”

To demonstrate, there was the sound of a zipper, Q making tiny movements that he couldn’t guess. Until something nudged the small of his back, through his shirt. It dampened the fabric every time it rocked into him. 

Q was stroking his cock. 

Q was stroking them both, one in each hand. The thought made his balls clench and he forced himself to focus _just a little bit_. The empty motorway offered no respite. Q curled close, his breathing erratic, getting harsher, and _Christ_ , his senses were overwhelmed: Q in his ear, wrapped around him, hand on him, _coming on him_. 

James couldn’t help it; he tensed.

“Don’t come, James.” Q managed to warn even as he plastered himself to James’ back, gasping, making a mess of his clothes. He moaned, a satisfied little sound that wormed its way over James’ raw nerves. He clenched his jaw and growled. His body ached from holding back.

“Your turn, love.” Q didn’t sound recovered and, in spite of chafing, he rubbed himself like a great big cat against a tree. “Let me stress: _limited self-navigation_. You can let go, but I wouldn’t let the bike travel on its own for too long. That’s why we had to take turns.”

James panted with relief as Q got serious this time, giving him exactly what he needed to orgasm as quickly as possible. He braced himself on the handlebars, his shoulders hunched around his ears. 

“I’ve got us, love.” Q’s free hand covered his on the handlebar.

James made a broken sound and shook. His thighs clamped down on the gas tank and he bucked with a stuttered gasping moan, coming all over himself. Q worked him through the aftershocks. 

James dropped his head in exhaustion. 

“So,” Q produced a hankerchief and delicately cleaned his hand under his nose. “Are you pleased with the updates?”


End file.
